


baby, baby, i'd get down on my knees for you

by boasamishipper, simplecoffee



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: 5 Times, Concussions, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Friends With Benefits to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meet the Family, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon, Pride and Prejudice References, Time Skips, Weddings, but like of the cute variety, eventually, god mav you're so fucking stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boasamishipper/pseuds/boasamishipper, https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/pseuds/simplecoffee
Summary: Or, the Wooing of Iceman Kazansky by a Very Smol Mr. Darcy(Five times Maverick proposed to Iceman, and one time Iceman accepted.)
Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Comments: 103
Kudos: 114





	1. 1987

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will update on Fridays, until it's complete. (Edit, as of the final Friday: this fic is now complete!)
> 
> Yes, that 9 on the chapter list is really a 9. It's a 5+1 - or is it? ;)

Contrary to popular belief, Lieutenant Thomas Kazansky is not, in fact, made of ice.

Up in the air is one thing. The rules are different when you're slicing through the sky with nothing but a laser lock between you and your target, nothing but a tailspin between you and certain death. At twenty thousand feet, he's ice cold, no mistakes, vision tunneling till there's nothing but the enemy in his sights. On the ground, regrettably, he thinks he might have a heart.

It's why, though he knows it's a matter of protocol - what with his name on the plaque and all - he still counts being offered the position of TOPGUN instructor as one of the best moments of his life. It's why getting up in that Tomcat and showing the new kids the ropes still gets him smiling like a child on Christmas morning in the pilot's seat, even after a year's worth of it. And it's why he's at the Officers' Club tonight, stepping in behind Charlotte Blackwood, playing buffer for a friend.

If anyone had told him before the USS _Layton_ rescue that he'd one day consider Maverick Mitchell a friend, he'd probably have snapped his gum in their face. But then Maverick showed up at TOPGUN and proved himself a worthy wingman all over again, and Ice found himself actually starting to like the guy. He's still dangerous, both in the air and on the ground, but after eight months of flying with him, it's easier to tell when he's putting on a front. Which is why Ice is here, giving up his perfectly nice Friday evening, all because Maverick made a joke about exes that afternoon and Ice saw his face before he turned away.

Maverick tips his glass to them in greeting as they enter, some of the whiskey sloshing over the side onto his fingers.

"Pete," Charlie says, and he smiles just a little too wide in answer, standing to attention and shaking her hand. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah," Maverick says. "Yeah. You look...You look happy. You look good."

Ice returns the friendly nod Maverick sends his way, and he and Charlie join him at the table. Once they've ordered drinks - bourbon for the two of them, scotch on the rocks for her - Charlie leans forward in her chair.

"So," she says with a grin. "You two want to tell me how you both ended up with my job?"

"Top Gun is guaranteed a teaching position, should he want one," Maverick quotes, gesturing at Ice with a grin of his own. "I just followed him here like a bad penny. Turn up everywhere, you know how it is."

Ice and Charlie roll their eyes, and Ice decides to do his part to help the conversation along. "How'd your meeting with the Admiral go?"

"I could tell you," Charlie says, a pointedly mysterious smile on her face, "but then I'd have to kill you - both of you."

"What," Maverick says, his hand over his heart in mock offense, "you don't have _any_ news for us small fry from DC?"

Charlie laughs. "I'm not telling you my secrets that easily, Pete Mitchell."

Maverick smiles at that, polite, but Ice notices the stiffness there is to it, even if Charlie doesn't. "How about me?" Ice offers. "I can keep him quiet."

 _"Right?"_ Maverick says with enthusiasm. "That's what he's here for, to keep me quiet. I can be quiet. I know you don't believe me, but - okay, I'm not exactly proving my point here. What's a few secrets between friends, anyway?"

"You'll get the news the same day as everyone else," Charlie says, "and not a moment sooner."

It's easier from there, less tense. Charlie smiles more, laughs at their jokes, and Maverick relaxes, genuinely smiling back. Ice isn't sure how much of that is due to his presence and how much to the whiskey, but he'll take it any day over how miserable and tense Maverick had been that afternoon.

By the fourth round of drinks, Charlie has agreed to reveal some of the details of her new job - namely how much more money she's making thanks to the newest round of tax cuts. "Thirty-five percent tax cut," she says, over-enunciating every syllable, "and if you know where to put the extra money, you'll get even more."

"Hey," Maverick says, nearly knocking over his glass with a dramatic gesture; Ice rescues the glass and puts it back upright. "That's because you make all of that civilian contractor money. What do the rest of us mere mortals get?"

"Less," Charlie says helpfully, and Maverick actually pouts.

"That's not fair, I want a tax cut too."

"Maybe when you make it to captain, Pete."

"What idiot would make this idiot a captain?" Ice deadpans, and Maverick shoves him in the arm and laughs.

"You know what us mere mortals have to do?" he says, like he's had a stroke of genius. "Us mere mortals have to get _married_ to get a tax cut." His eyes cast about the table for a moment before landing on Ice. "How about we get married, Ice? Marry me, that'd work."

Ice doesn't choke on his drink, but it's a near thing. "You're funny, Maverick."

"I am _not_ funny," Maverick says. "I am a _genius,_ you're not listening—"

"I heard you," Ice says. "Gotta say, I dared to hope any marriage proposals I'd get in life would be nicer than that."

Maverick stops for a moment, ponders, wearing an almost adorable expression like he's doing long division in his head. Then, hopefully, "Please?"

Ice snorts and shakes his head over Charlie's laughter. "You're drunk, Maverick."

"That…is accurate."

"Boys," Charlie says, wiping away tears of mirth. "Another round? This one's on me."

They stay at the club till well past midnight, laughing and talking like old friends do, even though before tonight they'd barely fit that definition. Ice definitely hadn't expected to enjoy himself this much - nor did he expect to get proposed to. He supposes Maverick _would_ do pretty much what he did tonight, if he ever proposed to anyone for real: a bare-faced proposition, facts only, no finesse. No romance.

Maverick gets around, he knows; Ice's love life hasn't exactly been thriving. It figures, he thinks, that the first proposal he'd ever get would be a mock one from this idiot. He's always dreamed of sweet proposals with flowers, or by candlelight, or at the seaside. Something romantic and Shakespearean. Or something out of a Jane Austen novel: he's always secretly wanted someone to confess how ardently they admire and love him, while staring at his lips in the rain.

Not that he'd ever admit that to Maverick Mitchell, or say it out loud at all.


	2. 1989

The kids disperse eventually. Graduation day is always a bit of a drag; even Ice can admit that much. Same food, same photographers, same speech from Viper and Jester. He's looking forward to spending the week in Santa Ana with his family, before the post-Thanksgiving batch comes in. 

Maverick's gotten better at protocol after three years of ceremonies such as this, but it's the end of the day and he's beginning to wear a little thin. Ice finds him shaking hands with the last of the graduates as they leave, and manages to graciously steer him away. He gets a grateful smile for his trouble.

"Thanks," Maverick says as they head out to the parking lot. "I swear sometimes it's like these guys don't want to go home. I mean, who'd rather geek out with the instructors than celebrate?"

Ice raises an eyebrow, and Maverick lifts his hands in mock surrender, so he lets it go - but not quite. "Mitchell, did I just hear you call yourself a geek?"

"Hey, I only called myself an instructor. You're the - well, never mind."

"Right," Ice says, rolling his eyes to hide his smile. "See you next Monday, fellow instructor. Where're you headed for the week off?"

Maverick's smile falters for a moment, which is odd; he's never been uncomfortable answering that before. 

"Around," he says, awkwardly. "Just me and my bike and the open road, you know? Figured I'd just go off-grid for a while."

Ice should drop it, probably. He does not drop it. "Off-grid, on Thanksgiving? Really?"

Maverick smiles again, a little easier this time. "Yeah, well, it's not as bad as it sounds. Carole and Bradley are visiting Goose's parents this year, and I'm kind of tired - disappearing for a few days sounds better to me than dealing with paperwork back at base."

 _You look tired,_ Ice finds himself thinking, and wonders when he started being able to tell - when spending some time hanging out with Maverick after work turned into this vague sense of concern at him going off on his own.

"Well," he says on a whim, which is not usually how he says anything, "a few days isn't a week, is it? You can get your fix of being off-grid and still come join me for Thanksgiving dinner."

Maverick laughs, until it clicks that Ice is serious. "Wait - what, really? Like, dinner with you? And your family?"

"Sure," Ice says. "We've had guests along from time to time. You'd be welcome."

"Oh," Maverick says, eyes wide. "Oh, you're _really serious._ I - is this a big event, or something? Do I need to bring anything?"

"No," Ice says, but he puts the question away in the 'Maverick Mitchell Is Surprisingly Nice' file. "Not really. It's just a family thing - me, and my parents and my sister. My mom makes cider, Dad bakes, and we watch the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special. That's pretty much all there is to it."

Maverick takes a moment to process that information. "That's really nice of you," he says finally. "Thanks, Ice, I'd love to be there."

"Great," Ice says, and means it. "I'll give you the address, and I'll see you on Thursday evening, yeah?"

Maverick grins. "You can count on it."

* * *

Ice is in the kitchen helping Taylor set the table when he hears the familiar roar of Maverick's motorcycle pull up in the driveway.

"Tom, honey, your friend's here—"

"Yeah, Mom, I got it," he says, shoving his handful of silverware into Taylor's hands and heading toward the door. He stops by the mirror in the hall and checks his hair - and then wonders why he's even bothering. He looks good, and anyway, it's just _Maverick._

He's not sure what he expected - Maverick's an officer, after all, and knows to conduct himself as such - but he's mildly speechless at the sight of him in something other than a leather bomber jacket and an old pair of jeans. He's neat and tidy and impeccable, not in the way they are on drills but in an easy, comfortable way that Ice has never seen before, dark jeans and suit jacket and windswept hair and all. He's also clutching an enormous bouquet of red roses, and looks instantly embarrassed when Ice notices them.

"Wow, Mitchell, those for me?"

Maverick goes red. "They're for your mother, you dick."

"Are those for me, honey?" Jess's voice comes from behind him, stopping Ice from savouring Maverick's discomfort as long as he would have liked. "You must be Maverick - why don't you come in?"

He dutifully hands her the bouquet and follows her and Ice inside, politely shutting the door behind him. "Yes ma'am, that's me, thank you for having me, um - happy Thanksgiving, you have a beautiful house."

Jess beams at him. "Thanks, honey, that's so nice of you to say. Let me get these in some water - Taylor, William, come meet Tom's friend!"

Bill steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. Taylor's right behind him, and Ice can already see her sizing Maverick up. 

"Hello, Maverick," he says, and Maverick stands ever so slightly to attention and shakes his hand. "Bill Kazansky. It's nice to meet you; Tom's told us a lot about you."

Maverick's face flushes.

"Lieutenant Mitchell," Ice says, "meet my father, Admiral Bill Kazansky, my mother, Colonel Jess Kazansky...and my sister, Captain Taylor Kazansky, callsign Molotov."

 _"Oh,"_ says Maverick. "Wow. It's, uh - it's great to meet you all." Then, his eyes dropping to the ground behind Taylor, "Is that your cat?"

Bill laughs. "That's F-14, he owns the place."

 _"Oh,"_ says Maverick again, this time in what sounds like delight, holding carefully still as F-14 walks up and sniffs his shoes. "Wait, did you say F-14?"

"Our little Tomcat," says Jess, returning to the hall and standing beside her husband. "Tom named him when he was a teenager."

 _"Mom,"_ Ice protests, determined not to blush, and Maverick gives him an appreciative grin, tinged with something he can't quite place. To Maverick, he says, "Wait till you meet the dog. And the hamster."

"Why, are they officers too?" says Maverick, and Taylor laughs out loud.

"Nah," she says. "They're named after aircraft too - Kazansky family tradition. Hercules is our dog, and Spirit is our hamster."

"That's adorable," Maverick breathes as F-14 rubs against his jeans. Ice raises his eyebrows. F-14 doesn't even take to their cleaning lady, and she's been coming by for ten years. "Can I pet - oh my god, can I pick him up?"

"Maybe later," Jess says, smiling. "Come on, guys, go wash your hands, it's time for dinner."

Ice shows Maverick where the bathroom is, and when they return Bill and Jess are setting down the last of the dishes on the dining room table. Taylor's already sitting in her usual place, and Bill looks up at Maverick. "What can I get you to drink, Maverick?" he asks. "Scotch or cider?"

"Oh," Maverick says, like he's taken aback by the question. "Uh. What are you having, sir? - Ice, what are _you_ having?"

"I'm joining Dad," Taylor puts in. "Scotch on the rocks."

"I'll have the same," Ice says, going to help them pour.

"Wait," Maverick says, "so no one's - are they leaving you alone, ma'am? That's _mean,_ that cider smells great, I'll join you instead."

Ice doesn't have to turn around to know that his mother is smiling, and he bites back a smile of his own.

They settle back at the table with their drinks, and Bill raises his glass in a toast. Ice nudges Maverick's leg under the table to let him know he has to do the same. "Thank you to everyone who's joined us here today," he says. "To our health and happiness. L'chaim."

"L'chaim," Ice echoes, followed by Jess and Taylor - and Maverick, a second too late, but with surprisingly decent pronunciation.

They've just finished filling their plates when Taylor speaks up. "So, Maverick," she says, gesturing with her fork. "Tommy tells us you two met at TOPGUN?"

Maverick looks like Christmas came early. Ice contemplates fratricide. "Yeah," he says with a smirk in Ice's direction that Ice very pointedly ignores. "And, well, we teach there now. Funny how that works."

"Yeah, how's it feel being responsible adults?" says Taylor, and Ice is beginning to roll his eyes when Maverick decides to take the question seriously.

"It's surreal," he says. "I mean, trying to wrangle a bunch of dumb kids when we were those dumb kids just about three years ago. We've seen combat, at least; there's no knowing if they ever will, but if they do we're the ones responsible for what they end up doing out there."

Taylor laughs. "How the tables turn, et cetera. I bet you two worried your instructors just as much."

"You can both speak for yourselves," Ice deadpans. "I've always been a responsible adult."

"Have you, Tommy," she says, grinning. "I've got some stories that would say otherwise. Remember that time in the tenth grade—"

" - _no,_ I don't remember that—"

" - you broke the sliding window when you were practicing for the lacrosse team tryouts and tried blaming it on Herc?"

"Oh yeah?" Two can play at this game. "What about when you wore scarves around your head for a month to hide that you got your ears pierced without permission?"

"What about your class's senior prank?" To Maverick, Taylor says, "Tommy and his friends brought three dogs into the high school a month before graduation and labelled them One, Two, and Four. I think the principal's still on the lookout for the third one."

"Math is a responsible adult thing to do," Ice says, and feels oddly accomplished when Maverick snorts with laughter next to him. "Oh - what about the time you got drunk with your friends and stole a stop sign? And then you hid it in my closet?"

"I couldn't hide it in _mine,"_ Taylor laughs. "And we gave it back eventually." 

"How did you even steal the sign in the first place?"

"Tricks of the trade, little brother. I'll tell you when you're older."

"I'm _twenty-nine."_

 _"When you're older,_ 'Iceman.'"

Maverick's grinning quietly, and starts a little when Jess addresses him. "I'm sure your family has similar stories about you, Maverick," she says, and his smile takes on a hint of the polite.

"I'm sure they _would,"_ he says. "I got a few relatives in Connecticut who could tell you things, but I doubt they'd want to. My aunt and uncle had the patience of saints to put up with me for as long as they did, after...after Mom."

He says it awkwardly but matter-of-fact, like it's something he's used to but not used to saying. Ice notices the quiet look between his parents, even if Maverick misses it. 

"I'm sorry, honey," Jess says gently.

"Oh," Maverick says, like it didn't occur to him that that's what someone would say. "Please don't be, ma'am, it was a long time ago."

"How old were you?"

"Just about five," Maverick says after a moment's pause, and something about this evening starts to fall into place, just a little bit. "I lived in a few different places over the years, but—" He picks up his mug of cider, and his patented Maverick charm with it, smiling across the table at Jess. "I gotta say, I've never tasted anything as good as this."

"Old family recipe," Ice says, recognizing a subject change when he sees one - even one designed to make his mom blush. "Mom only makes it for the holidays."

"Thank you, Maverick," Jess says, smiling at him. "I'll have to give you the recipe sometime."

Taylor's jaw drops. "What? You didn't even tell it to me until I turned thirty!"

"She didn't say _when,"_ Bill points out, and Maverick laughs.

"As long as it takes, sir," he says solemnly. 

Ice snorts into his scotch. "F-14 will get the recipe too when he turns thirty, that's the rule."

The rest of dinner passes smoothly, with Maverick complimenting all of the dishes and helping Ice tell stories about their students. Eventually, Jess shoos them all away from the table so she and Bill can clear up, and Ice nudges Maverick's shoulder. "Want to meet the other pets?"

Maverick lights up even further, if that were possible. "Can I pet them?"

"You can pet Herc and Spirit for sure," Ice says, "but F-14's his own man and he makes his own choices. I think he likes you, though. Come on."

They'd sequestered Hercules in Bill's office with Spirit, since the dog gets overly excited when there's company, and sure enough, Maverick nearly gets bowled over by a blur of fur when Ice unlocks the door. Spirit, whose cage is by the menorah on Bill's desk, gives Maverick an appraising look as they approach.

"Hey, buddy," Mav says breathlessly, and then to Ice, "Your pets are all as blonde as you."

"No frosted tips, though," Ice says. "Not for lack of trying."

The joke doesn't go unappreciated, even though Mav's thoroughly engrossed in petting Herc. "Would that be you or Taylor trying?"

"No comment," Ice says. "Here, do you want to hold Spirit? Herc, come here, buddy. Lay off Mav for a sec."

Herc obligingly goes over to Ice, who unlocks Spirit's cage and carefully picks him up, bringing him over to Mav. 

"He's so _small,"_ Mav says, delighted, as Spirit lets Ice put him in Mav's hands. "He's - does he always look this serious? He's like a tiny version of you. He's gonna chew me out for being reckless in the air."

"Shut up," says Ice, but he's laughing. "He's only gonna chew your fingers, if that."

Mav patiently lets Spirit climb up his arm and sniff his hair, until F-14 strides into the room, making a beeline for him. 

"Ah, you return from the front lines," Ice tells him, and F-14 meows in acknowledgement. He then proceeds to ignore Ice entirely and rub against Mav's ankle, clearly wanting to be picked up. "Our correspondent desires your attention, Maverick."

Mav looks down, or as far as he can with Spirit balanced precariously on his head. "Oh! - I'd love to, but - Ice, a little help here?"

"Come here, buddy," Ice says to Spirit, who does not look pleased to return to Ice so Mav can replace him with another pet.

"See ya around, little guy," Mav says with affection, before scooping F-14 surprisingly gently into his arms. "He's so soft - _oh,_ he licked me. That tickles."

"That's an honour," Ice says. "You should be honoured. It took him months after we rescued him to ever lick any of us, and he still doesn't trust strangers easily."

"I'm very honored," Mav says, beaming, and Ice catches himself wondering if it would be weird to take a photograph of this moment - just to prove F-14 can trust a stranger after all, of course. Then again, no picture could capture the purring.

Mav gets lost in petting F-14 for a while, until Spirit gets tired enough for Ice to put him back in his cage. Herc insists on accompanying them to the living room, for the vaunted tradition of watching the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special.

"I haven't watched this since I was a kid," Mav says as Ice rewinds the tape, settling on the couch with F-14 in his lap. Herc settles by Ice - good, at least one of his pets still likes him best.

"Kazansky family tradition," Ice says. "Then we watch the Army-Navy football game."

"Sounds cozy," Mav says, then subsides into silence, playing with F-14 as they listen to the faint sounds of Bill, Jess and Taylor tidying up the kitchen. The next time Ice looks at him, after setting up the TV remote ready to press play, he's looking off into the distance with a slight, wistful smile on his face.

"Hey," Ice says, a little surprised, a little of something else he can't place. "Are you okay?"

Mav blinks in reply, just as startled, but his smile deepens. 

"Are you kidding?" he says. "I'm more than okay. This is so great. Please just marry me so we can do this every year."

Ice would have snorted at that, he thinks, a while ago. A year ago. A few TOPGUN batches ago. Tonight, with Mav's smile this soft, his eyes shining just a little more than they should be, all he can do is smile back at him and pretend his heart can take it. Pretend he hasn't suddenly imagined years of Thanksgivings with Mav at his side just like this, and then made himself stop thinking about it for fear of what else he might find down that road.

"Well," Ice says. "The animals like you, so I guess you've got a standing invitation."

And just like that, the spell breaks, and Mav's laughing again. "Yeah? What about the other officers on deck?"

"I think they like you fine, too," Ice tells him, as Taylor strolls in with a mug of tea and collapses into her usual armchair, followed by Jess and Bill. Mav watches the small squabble that ensues about who gets the remote, before Taylor steals it from Ice and presses play.

As the familiar music starts and Lucy van Pelt appears, Ice watches his family turn to the screen and settle in, Taylor mouthing the words with the characters while Bill and Jess look on. They know the story by heart, all of them but one; Mav is hooked from a few seconds in, each plot twist keeping him enthralled. Ice finds himself listening to the special instead of watching, after all these years - he looks at Mav instead, and at F-14 lounging happily in his lap, and wonders how it came to this.


	3. 1990

"—You lying son of a _bitch!_ "

 _Here we go,_ Ice thinks to himself. Ten o'clock on a Friday evening in a civilian dive bar downtown, and he's already surrounded by idiots. He almost wishes he'd stayed at the O Club tonight, even though it's full of all the new kids trading jeers and drinking up a storm.

Figures he can't get any peace no matter what he does.

"—well, why don't you go _fuck_ yourself, Larry—" 

"Let me see if I can fit that into my schedule, _Josh_ , 'cause I'm too busy fucking your _girlfriend—_ "

Ice takes a look around the bar, where everybody is steadfastly pretending to mind their own business, and sighs. If this comes to blows, someone's going to have to intervene, and right now it looks like it's going to have to be him.

"You leave her out of this, motherfucker! C'mon, let's take this outside, just you and—"

The punch lands _hard_. Considering the level of inebriation both men are at, Ice is surprised the momentum doesn't knock Josh flat on his ass. Sloppy technique, but Larry gets an A for effort; pity this won't last.

"All right, boys, let's break this up." Ice puts on his Drill Instructor voice and rises from his seat at the counter, turning heads - yeah, _now_ they look - as he strides toward the commotion. Josh seems to have recovered from the blow, and is winding up to return it when Ice places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Hey, there's no need to—"

The world whites out, and the next thing Ice knows he's on the ground.

Things are sluggish for a moment, the voices around him indistinct. His head is throbbing; he tries to move his hand toward it, but can't. Josh and Larry are still cursing at each other from far away, and an unfamiliar face drifts into focus above him. 

"Hey. Hey, mister, are you all right?"

 _Lieutenant Commander, actually,_ Ice tries to say, but the words won't form and he feels himself starting to fade away again. So much for a quiet night. He should have just stayed at the O Club.

-

He surfaces again, briefly. It's darker now, quieter; at least _something_ is going right. He thinks someone is talking to him, but he's not sure. Somebody's definitely got their hands on him, though, and he'd flinch if it didn't hurt to blink, let alone move.

"—Kazansky, Thomas J., age thirty—"

"He's got military ID; Jesus, this guy's an officer—"

"—hit his head pretty hard, possible concussion—"

"Get him in the ambulance—"

-

The next time he wakes, he vaguely remembers being bathed in green light, and the pain in his head has receded to a dull roar. He's propped up in bed in a room that stinks of saline and antiseptic, and someone is talking to him again. This time, he can actually make out individual words. Whaddaya know.

"Mr Kazansky, can you hear me?"

"Lieutenant—" Ice says, opening his eyes - really says, this time. Clears his throat; tries again. " _Lieutenant Commander_ Kazansky."

"Lieutenant Commander, then," she says without missing a beat. "I'm Dr. Collins. Can you tell me what year it is?"

The answer's not as prompt as he'd like, but it's better than nothing. "1990."

"And where do you live?"

"Naval Air Station, Miramar."

"All right, can you tell me who the president is?"

"It's…" Shit. There'd just been an election. He'd voted for Dukakis, but… "Bush. George Bush."

"What's the last thing you can remember?"

He thinks back: beer, and idiots, and a face looming over him. "I was at…a bar?"

She nods and checks her clipboard. "According to the paramedics, you were trying to stop a fight. Not always the smartest thing to do, Lieutenant Commander."

Ice feels himself going red. Stupid concussion. "Trust me, Doc, if you were there you'd have tried to shut 'em up too."

She laughs. "Sure, we'll go with that. Now, I want you to follow my finger, please…"

Not one to refuse a direct order, Ice does his best to follow her finger up and down and from side to side. She then shines a light into each of his eyes, makes a few notes on his chart, and leaves him to rest with the promise that a nurse will be by to wake him up and repeat the tests in a few hours.

"We called your emergency contact when you arrived," she says over her shoulder, "but there's no need to worry, sir. Looks like you're gonna be just fine."

"Reassuring," he mutters, and resigns himself to calling Taylor's base in Louisiana in the morning to explain. If he's lucky, she'll only give him hell for this until next Thanksgiving.

-

"Hey," Ice asks the nurse who comes in to take his vitals at eight the next morning, "any chance you guys could let me at a phone?"

The nurse looks over at him. "Happy to, sir, but you might want to see your visitor first. He's been in the waiting room half the night, the poor thing."

That throws him for a loop. "You sure you're not mistaking me for someone else?"

"No, sir," she says, not unkindly. "Pretty sure we all know the name Lieutenant Commander Thomas James Kazansky by now."

Well then. "Uh, okay. Let him in."

The nurse finishes checking his vitals and leaves, presumably to do just that. Less than a minute passes before loud footsteps echo in the hall, and then the door bursts open to reveal—

"Maverick?"

Mav skids into the room, stops short, and stares. He looks a wreck, his hair a mess, his bootlaces undone; there are dark smudges underneath his eyes, and his motorcycle helmet is clutched like a lifeline in his hand. If Ice didn't know any better, he'd think Mav was the one who got in a fight.

"Jesus, Mitchell, you look like shit," he says. "What the hell happened to you?"

Mav stops gawping at him and makes an indignant noise. "Me? What happened to _me_? You wanna tell me why I got a call from Taylor at two am saying you're in a civilian hospital, Kazansky?"

Well, that's one thing explained. Even if Ice is still wondering how the fuck Taylor got Maverick's phone number - and why she phoned him of all people in the first place.

"Seriously, Ice," Mav continues, suddenly quieter, shuffling hesitantly closer to the bed. "How, uh. How are you feeling?"

Ice gives him an exaggerated shrug. "I'm good, more or less. Doc says I'll be out by the evening."

"Christ," Mav says, swaying ever so slightly on his feet, then abruptly stumbles over and sinks into the chair next to Ice's bed. His helmet is still in his hand; Ice wonders if Mav's let go of that thing since he got here. "Ice, just - Ice, what, what the hell, man. Gettin' into trouble's _my_ job, not yours."

"I'm not some fuckin' damsel in distress, Maverick, I had it covered."

"Yeah, no, no, you _have_ a hero complex is what you _have_ \- Ice, did you try to stop a bar fight, _really?"_

"Yeah." In retrospect, it _might_ not have been the best idea, but he's not going to admit that to Maverick 'Time To Buzz The Tower' Mitchell, no matter how tired he looks. "They were being annoying. The risk was worth it, or so I thought."

"What happened to ice cold, no mistakes?"

He shrugs. "Even I can't be right all the time, Mav - on the ground, anyway."

Mav laughs quietly, a breathless edge to it as he drops his eyes. "Yeah. That's what Taylor said, too."

"Mitchell," Ice says gently, then, when he doesn't reply, "Mav. Hey, you look terrible. Maybe you should go home, get some rest."

"I'm not _leaving_ you."

"Mav, I'll be fine. I _am_ fine. You can see that for yourself."

He swallows, looking up, then away again. "Ice. I've been here for five hours. _Five hours,_ not knowing if… And I'm not your emergency contact, so they wouldn't let me in, or tell me anything, or - I'm not _leaving you_."

Ice stares for a moment at his bent head. He hadn't thought Mav would be this upset; hell, he looks damn near ready to cry. After all, accidents can happen to anyone, not just - oh.

 _Oh_.

"Hey," he says, watching Mav's fingers clutch convulsively at the helmet again. "Take it easy, Mav. It's okay."

Mav lets out a breath, his grip loosening slightly, and shakes his head.

"You should just marry me, Ice," he says.

Ice blinks. "Excuse me?"

"So the next time this happens," even though Ice is very much not planning for this to happen again, "I won't have to wait five hours to find out if my best friend is okay."

Ice, reeling somewhat from the admission that Maverick considers him his best friend, says, "They don't exactly check if the emergency contact is a spouse or a relative, Mav."

Mav looks up, and their eyes meet. 

"Then write me in," he says. "I need to know, Ice. I'll always need to know."

* * *

And that's how Ice finds himself making the perfectly manageable trip home on the back of his new emergency contact's motorcycle, definitely not clinging for dear life. Mav doesn't linger for long after they arrive, just pats him awkwardly on the back and tells him to _take it easy, Kazansky, don't want you dying on me,_ before he drives off again.

He's placed on light duty for the next week, no flying, and he spends the downtime doing the necessary yet tedious paperwork between classes. He's expecting some friendly teasing for being grounded, but Mav just does his best to take as much as he can of their shared workload, which is both sweet and mildly unnerving. 

Mav's over at his house more evenings than not after that, and turns out to be surprisingly good company, even when he does nothing but drink Ice's beer and complain about basketball. Today is no different - the Bucks and the Lakers are neck and neck all night, and Mav is cursing out the referees while half buried under a blanket on Ice's couch. If Ice spends more time glancing over at Mav than watching the game, that's no one's business but his.

It's a close game, but the Lakers end up taking it by nine points. Ice is half expecting Mav to jump off the couch and start celebrating, and he's got a warning about potential dry-cleaning bills all ready to go when he notices that Mav is staring off into the distance.

"Hey." Ice stretches out, tossing a wadded up napkin at the back of Mav's head. "Earth to Mitchell."

Mav starts out of whatever reverie he's in. He rises, going over to set his beer can down on the coffee table, but makes no move to return to his seat.

"Hey, Kazansky," he says quietly. "How is being grounded not driving you insane?"

Ice blinks. "It's only been a week, Mav," he says, even if he has no idea why Mav is bringing this up now. " _You_ do a better job of driving me insane than that."

Mav laughs, though it's a little sharp around the edges, and averts his eyes. "Right," he says. "But, uh. It...it wears you out, you know? I know the feeling. If...you need to talk, or - you know what, forget I said that."

Ice's downtime has been surprisingly easy so far, but he finds himself appreciating that Mav brought it up; _talking_ is not something military officers tend to do, even when they should. Mav is fidgeting with his beer can again, still not meeting his eyes, and Ice feels the need to - not fill the silence, exactly. Put him at some kind of ease, tell him he wasn't wrong.

"Yeah," he says softly, "yeah, it's never all that great. When you're not flying, there's a sort of tension that builds up - like a release you're being deprived of. Nothing I can't handle, though," he adds with a smirk. "Ice cold, remember?"

Mav gives him an appreciative smirk of his own, looks at him with something deliberative in his eyes. Nods to Ice, but also to himself; takes a breath, like he's made a decision.

"There are other ways of relieving tension, Kazansky," he says, and then he walks over, leans down and kisses him.

And well, if someone'd told him a few years ago that Maverick Mitchell was a gentle kisser, he'd probably have snapped his gum in their face. Nor would he ever have believed that he'd experience it firsthand - or that he'd like it as much as he does. Mav kisses with all there is of him, cups his face feather-lightly before backing off just the tiniest bit, and Ice is too stunned for the moment to do anything but blink.

"See if you can handle that," says Mav, quiet, still close enough for Ice to smell the beer on his breath.

"Mitchell," he says, just as soft, "you're drunk."

Mav shakes his head, hovers in his space without touching him again. "No," he says. "I'm not drunk. Not yet. This makes sense. Release of tension and all that, right?"

Ice swallows hard, feeling like he can't get enough air. "And all that - right. What's in it for you?"

"Same as you," Mav says without hesitation. "Release of tension. Helping out a friend."

Ice's heart clenches for the briefest of seconds at Mav's surprisingly genuine smile. "Are you really sure about this?"

Mav meets his eyes and nods, and yeah, Ice thinks, he isn't drunk. Not yet.

"You can ask me again in the morning, Kazansky," he says, "but right now I'm the one asking you. What d'ya say?"

He reaches out, hesitantly touches Mav's shoulder. Mav doesn't pull away, and Ice has his answer. "Yeah," he says. "Okay."

-

Mav surprises him, again and again. He leans into every hesitant kiss, responds with a smile to the slightest touch, is gentle when he reaches up to unbutton Ice's shirt. Ice nods permission and watches him do it, lips hovering near his forehead, closer than they've ever been, even counting the kiss he's still reeling from. Mav is businesslike at unbuttoning, quick like he's had some practice at it, flicking them open one by one, efficient but somehow curious, bright.

Ice almost lets his body betray him. Almost leans down to kiss Mav's hair, almost reaches out to cup his jaw. Instead, he finds himself oddly unsure where to put his hands; finds them drifting near Mav's shoulders, his arms, wondering how much would be too much. 

Mav, predictably, seems to have no such worries. Mav's hands are everywhere they can be as soon as they can be, eagerly exploring him, Mav's lips - again - surprisingly soft and sweet against his jaw. Ice gets over himself at that, brushes his fingers down Mav's back, tugs gently upward on the hem of Mav's t-shirt, and Mav looks delighted as he lets him pull it over his head, messing up his hair in the process.

Ice can't resist that smile anymore. If he ever could - it's not like he's been thinking about this since Thanksgiving of last year, not like he's been thinking about Mav's mouth for longer than that. He leans down to kiss him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, holding him so close he can feel the heat of him against his hip, feel him lean up and hold tight to his waist and sigh in something like contentment, something like need. 

The next thing he does is indulge himself a little, and press a slow kiss to Mav's cheekbone. Mav's eyes are shut, his breathing heavy, and he sways just a little into Ice, having to steady himself just slightly in order to look up again. 

"You can be a little rough with me, Kazansky," he says, his voice low, eyes bright. "I'm not gonna break."

"You're not unbreakable, Mav."

Ice says it softly but by reflex, knowing what Mav's asking for but answering past him anyway. Mav shakes his head, hardens his smile, a silent _I know, so shut the fuck up_. Ice wonders when they learned to read each other this way, wonders when they stopped pushing each other's buttons and ended up like, well, this.

"I'm only going easy on you 'cause you're hurt, I want you to know."

Of course, the answer to that is they still push each other's buttons, even when their lips are inches apart. 

"Jesus, Mitchell, I'm grounded on _precaution_. You're acting like I almost died—"

"Prove it," whispers Mav into his mouth. "Oh, don't look at me like that, I buy it, but prove it. Show me what you got, _Ice_ man."

So Ice pounces, and hefts him in his arms. Shoves him up against the wall, letting Mav wrap his legs around his waist and bury his hands in his hair, and leans up, this time, to kiss the insufferable, delightful smirk off his lips.

"That's what I'm talking about," Mav says, and has the nerve to ruffle Ice's hair before they blow each other's minds.

Mav lets Ice hesitantly pet him, afterwards. He seems more amused by it than anything else, but they're both tired enough now that the beer is getting to them, and he leans into Ice's side and doesn't tease him for it.

"Hey, Kazansky," he says sleepily into the pillow as Ice pulls the blankets up around them. "You considering marrying me yet?"

"Shut up, Mitchell," Ice says, and resists the urge to make sure Mav's warm.

-

They do it again - more often than Ice expected, and then more often than not. Ice falls asleep almost every night with Mav at his side, and wakes up almost every morning to find him gone. Almost every morning, he blinks at the empty space beside him and sighs.

There are silver linings, though. Sometimes he's lucky enough to wake up early, when Mav's still tucked underneath his arm, and ask himself if he dares to rub his back or pet his hair, or if that would wake him and ruin everything. (Mav doesn't sleep well; Ice hates himself for knowing that.) There's the day when he has a cold and Mav stays to make him coffee and toast and surprisingly does not burn either of those things. There's the very first weekend they go back to Mav's place, and Ice looks round at the mildly dusty disorder of the bedroom, the picture of Mav and Goose smiling brightly up from a cracked silver frame by the phone, and tucks Mav underneath the covers, draws the curtains, and lets him sleep in.

Ice wonders, sometimes, if he's imagining that Mav looks happier. Then he figures he might, too, or more relaxed anyway - he guesses Mav does know a thing or two about releasing tension.

All that, and they still kick ass together in the sky. What more could Ice ever want of a wingman, after all?


	4. 1991

Mav follows him into the O Club with an easy smile on his face. He looks good tonight, Ice thinks. Tired, but then both of them do. Relaxed, a little, now that the worst of the stressful mid-session weeks is over. They always run just slightly ragged by week five; with luck, it'll be clear skies from here till graduation. 

Mav deserves this night off, he thinks. It's a long way out from '86 now, a good while of watching him fly, of watching him teach. Watching him care about both those things with a passion that, at first, Ice never would have thought he had. He still pulls daredevil stunts in the air, still hates paperwork, sure, but he matches Ice for thoroughness - and outmatches him for worry. He's been tense and distracted of late, just a little withdrawn, even in bed - a quiet night like this is exactly what they both need.

They elbow their way through the crowd to an open space at the bar, Tank Nelson stepping aside to give them right of way at the counter. Ice orders two beers, and Mav makes it double with a grin, nodding to Tank and the pretty blonde woman on his arm while they wait.

"You guys waiting on refills?" Ice says genially.

"Waiting for my first drink," says the woman, smiling back as she releases Tank's arm. "I just got here. Hey, maybe you could buy me one."

Ice blinks. " - Oh?"

"Hey," Tank says, "I can - hey, _I_ just bought you a drink, Levy!"

"Let the gentleman answer," Levy says, arching an eyebrow, and Ice has to admire her for it - at least until she reaches out and rests her hand on top of his. "What do you say?"

Ice's long years of practice at keeping a straight face, so to speak, serve him well; he doesn't flinch away from her, but it's a near thing. It's Mav, instead, who pointedly clears his throat.

"Ma'am," he says, leaning away from the bar with a charmingly sheepish smile, a sudden surprising edge to him - well concealed, but there. "I'm sorry to sink your boat, but - Lieutenant Commander Kazansky and I are waiting for our dates this evening, and we don't two-time."

Levy turns to look at him, without removing her hand from Ice's, but Mav's already shifted his gaze to Tank, who hails the bartender and asks for a cosmopolitan. When the younger officer catches his eye, Mav gives him an approving glance and the slightest of nods - still smiling politely, but the way he does to Jester at debrief, the way he does when called on something dangerous he did in the air; the way he does when he knows he's right. Ice extricates his hand from under Levy's, grateful for the diversion, as the bartender returns with her drink and his and Mav's beers. Mav winks at Tank before setting off toward their usual table, and Ice follows close behind. 

"Thanks for the save," he says, when Mav smirks up at him without saying a word.

Mav loses the edge pretty much at once, melting back from commanding to tired. "Hey, that's what wingmen are for, right?"

"In the air and on the ground."

"In the air and on the ground," Mav repeats, and knocks his beer against Ice's, a little too loudly. Grins again, genuine, but a little too real. "You know, Kazansky, maybe if you got engaged, wore a ring...this wouldn't happen all the time. Care to marry your wingman?"

Ice snorts. "Sure, Mitchell, you wish. This joke's getting old by now, you can do better than that."

"Hey, I save your ass, you laugh at my jokes," Mav says, but then drops his eyes until Ice gently kicks him in the leg.

"You alright? You looked a bit like F-14 hissing at a stranger back there."

Mav smiles appreciatively, and finally sinks back with a sigh. 

"I'm okay," he says. "Just a little tired, Ice, you know how it goes. Are you? She was coming on pretty strong."

"I've been worse," Ice says reassuringly, "and you know it, so shut up. Let's get tipsy, Mitchell."

* * *

It's a few weeks before Ice starts to notice they're getting tipsy considerably more often than earlier. There's less beer and bourbon on the table, and more expensive scotch and brandy; Mav even spent a hot minute this evening talking about wine. Ice was not aware that Mav had ever entertained a thought about wine.

"Mav," he says, pointing his martini stirrer at him. "Why are you talking about wine?"

" - Oh," says Mav awkwardly. "Uh, I thought - maybe we could use a change, y'know? Variety? People say - never mind."

Ice sees his dejected expression and drops it, nudging his foot under the table. "Hey. You're acting weird."

Mav perks up immediately at the nudge. "Weird? I'm not acting _weird,_ Kazansky. Was it weird last night when—"

" - okay, that's normal Mav behavior, you can stop."

" - or this morning," Mav continues, and Ice has to laugh. "No, seriously, Ice, pick something else fun to drink."

Mav doesn't stop acting weird, though, now that Ice has noticed. He seems fixated on the thought of variety, because the next night he insists they try out a civilian bar in La Jolla, right by the ocean. 

"It's not the one you got hurt at," he says coaxingly, as though that matters to him - as though the thought had crossed Ice's mind at all. "This one's nicer. Pretty sure the people are nicer, too - it's much more your style of place. C'mon, Ice, I wanna try it and I'm not going without you."

It _is_ a much nicer place. They sit at a table with a view of the beach, with no loud music or annoying patrons nearby, and linger over their drinks for hours, their ankles intertwined. Ice makes sure to show his appreciation when they get back to his place, pinning Mav's wrists against the wall and feeling him chuckle softly in reply.

"Oh, we _gotta_ do this again," Mav sighs when Ice bends to kiss his throat, and Ice hums an affirmative - it's been a nice evening, after all.

They don't get the chance to follow through. Ginger makes a dumb mistake the next morning, and the next week is spent fixing it as the session ramps up in intensity. It's Thursday night when Mav barges into his office, takes him by the hands and announces that they're going out.

"Leave the damn paperwork, Ice," he says, dropping his hands when Ice looks pointedly down at them. "It's been a rough week. We're going to dinner, okay? You can pick it back up after."

'Dinner' turns out to mean a nice restaurant in Encinitas, and Ice lets himself enjoy the food, the atmosphere. Lets himself be distracted from the paperwork that, on second thoughts, can just be left for tomorrow. It's strange for Mav to be right twice in a row. 

It's not until they're walking back to the parking lot when Mav says casually, "So hey, how about a movie? We're already off base." 

_Well,_ Ice thinks, _there goes that streak._ "We've got a hop in the morning, Mitchell, what are you talking about?"

"Ah, yeah," Mav says, deflating slightly. "I definitely forgot about that. Oh well, some other time."

"You're the one who dragged me away from all my paperwork," Ice points out, teasing, and Mav rolls his eyes. "Thank you for that, by the way - this was fun. But we really should be getting back. Come on, you'll thank me in the morning."

"I _never_ thank you in the morning," Mav grumbles. "Except when—"

_"Mav."_

" - never mind." He's grinning again as he follows Ice to the car, and pokes him in the shoulder before going round to the passenger side. "Hey, it's my birthday next week, so you can't say no to me then - I'll show ya."

Ice had not forgotten it is Mav's birthday next week. Though he'd never admit it, he's been thinking of nothing else for a while. He'd spent longer than he probably should have picking out the perfect gift - and is definitely not a little nervous when he looks into Mav's office to hand it to him.

"Happy birthday," he says. "Am I the first?"

Mav blinks tiredly up at him, like he usually does this early in the morning, but he's smiling in surprise. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, you're the first - you're the only so far. Thanks, Ice."

"Don't just stand there, Mitchell, open your present."

"I'm opening it," Mav says, and his smile only grows when he sees the motorcycle-shaped desk clock. "Well shit, Kazansky, you've really got my number, huh?"

Ice feels himself grinning back. "You like it?"

"No kidding," Mav says. "I love it. This is _so fucking cool._ \- Hey, wanna give me another present? How about you come see a movie with me tonight?"

Ice lets himself be convinced. He even lets Mav convince him to ride there on the back of his motorcycle. He's half expecting a bunch of the kids to show up as well, but it turns out to just be the two of them and a single tub of buttered popcorn. Ice spends less time than he should following the plot of _Terminator 2,_ and more time trying not to accidentally brush Mav's hand with his own in the dark. 

Mav is riveted throughout, and Ice suspects he even sheds a tear or two at the end. He waits for the inevitable comment about Linda Hamilton as they leave, but instead Mav nudges him and says, "Hey Ice, you know what? _You_ look more like an action star than Schwarzenegger, man."

Ice doesn't dignify that with an answer, doesn't turn to see if Mav's teasing or sincere. He gets on the motorcycle with him again instead, and clutches Mav's shoulder for balance as Mav takes them back to his place. It's still Mav's birthday, so he fully intends to blow his mind; fireworks echo in the distance as the bedroom door slams shut behind them.

It takes until the next weekend for Mav to suggest yet another new place to try. He sounds uncharacteristically hedgy about it, until Ice asks what he's not telling him.

"Well," Mav says, with the air of one biting a bullet, "there's a dress code, actually."

"Who are you," Ice says, "and what have you done with Maverick Mitchell?"

Mav laughs and nudges Ice's shoulder. "Come on, Kazansky. It'll be fun. You live for that kinda thing."

Ice does, in fact, live for that kind of thing, so once again, he lets Mav have his way and agrees to meet him at the restaurant. He finds him sitting at a table for two, almost hidden by a vase of flowers, and when he gets up to hug him Ice can't help but stare at his sharp blue suit and tie. His hair's a little rumpled, like he's been running his hands through it the way he does after a rough day, but somehow it doesn't spoil the effect - if anything, Ice thinks he might want to take a picture of him this way. Just to prove Mav can wear a suit well, of course.

"You look nice," Mav says as he pulls out Ice's chair for him, and Ice tries not to blush at the sight of his smile when he looks up again.

"Thanks," he manages to say, and is about to compliment Mav in return when their waitress arrives with the menus. Ice takes them, thanks her, and holds one out to Mav, who's picked up the flower vase and is placing it on the windowsill beside them.

"There," he says awkwardly, grinning a little as Ice raises an eyebrow in his direction, "now I can see you. Gimme that, Kazansky."

Ice ends up deciding for both of them, and both dishes turn out excellent. The staff turns down the lights at nine and brings each table a small candle, which by the look of it surprises and delights Mav as much as it does him. Between the candle, the ambience, the soft piano music in the background, and Mav not-so-subtly stealing steak fries off his plate, Ice finds himself thinking there's something about this place, this evening - an intimacy to it that's...almost like a date. He shakes his head to clear it of the thought, but finds that it persists.

After their plates are cleared, Ice leaves to use the bathroom, and returns to find that Mav has already paid the bill.

"Don't worry about it," he says when Ice asks. "This one's on me. You're my ride home, anyway."

Ice does some thinking on the way home. Some more the next morning, when Mav pulls his suit on and leaves, collar open, his tie in his hand. It's _possible,_ the given data seems to suggest, that Maverick Mitchell is trying to romance him. If that's true, it's possible Ice might want to let him succeed. But Mav's never _said_ his sudden obsession with trying new things is anything but just that.

It's possible Ice needs to gather more intel before making a decision.

The next time Mav asks him out, it's to a more laidback dinner joint than the last. They wear sports jackets, but no ties; there's soft music, but no flowers or candles. Ice pays this time, and Mav lets him without a murmur of protest. He's beginning to think he imagined it all when, as they're leaving, Mav suddenly nudges him in the arm and looks up with a grin.

"Hey, Kazansky," he says. "Wanna try something new?"

It turns out the new thing Mav has in mind this time is a bowling alley. Ice almost asks him what the hell he's thinking, but soon forgets how overdressed they are when the competition heats up. He has to admit, when they're laughing together, the score still tied after a couple of hours, that Mav knows what he likes - knows how to get him out of his head when he needs it most.

"I'll get you next time," Mav promises with a grin after Ice rolls a spare and wins their latest game. Ice grins back, and the two of them go over to the ball return while the pinsetter clears the pin deck. "Best of five."

"You're on, Mitchell," he says as he collects his bowling ball, and their knuckles brush together for a moment as Mav grabs his own. Ice is already turning back to follow through on the challenge, and it takes him a second to realize Mav is frozen behind him. "Hey, come on already, what happened to best of five?"

Mav turns back in answer with a smile, and - is he _blushing?_ Oh, no. "You're not getting out of that, Kazansky, let's go," he says, and proceeds to shake it off and play even better than he has so far. 

Ice can't forget that moment, though, even when he wins three of five. He's not sure he's ever seen Mav look like that before - not flustered like that, not pretty like that - and he thinks he has his answer. He's tempted to call Mav's bluff right there, turn around and say _Mitchell, is this a date,_ but he doesn't want to break a winning streak. Besides, he's thought of something better.

"Hey Mitchell," he says the next morning at work, poking his head into Mav's office. He can't hide his grin. "Want to try something new tonight?"

Mav looks up from the perfectly creased paper airplane he was about to throw at the opposite wall. "Bit early for dirty talk, huh, Kazansky? 'Course I'm always up for trying new things, especially when—"

_"Mav,"_ Ice says reproachfully, but he still can't stop smiling. "No, actually, it's this great restaurant I found. I'd like you to come try it with me tonight."

Mav blinks wordlessly for a moment, and then says, "Oh. - Sure, Ice, where and when?"

Ice tells him the spot, but adds that he'll drive them there. "My place, Mitchell, seven sharp."

Mav grins and mock-salutes him. "Yes, sir, I'll be there."

He hears Mav's motorbike at just the right time, but waits for him to ring the bell instead of opening the door. There's a mildly suspicious delay, like Mav is psyching himself up for something, and Ice doesn't quite know what to expect until he sees Mav holding an enormous bouquet of red roses.

"Mitchell," he says, when Mav holds them out to him nervously. "Those better not be for my mom."

Mav goes red and splutters a laugh. "Oh my _god,_ Ice. No, no, they're for you. Can I come in or what?"

Ice takes the flowers, then thinks better of it and takes his hand as well, pulling him gently inside and shutting the front door behind him.

"Mav," he says sternly, or as sternly as he can manage when Mav is still half hiding behind the roses. "Is this a date? Is that what this is?"

Mav looks awkward again, almost like he'd turn and leave if Ice let go of his hand. "It's, uh. I brought you flowers? I've been taking you places - flowers, candles, dinner and a movie, those are date things, right? You'd be okay if this...if this _was_ a date, right?"

Ice shakes his head and finally moves the flowers aside, looks Mav over, cute dinner jacket and all; wide, doubtful eyes and all. 

"Mitchell, why didn't you fucking say so?" he says, and kisses him. Mav melts underneath his touch, even though the flowers make it slightly inconvenient - sighs against his jaw when they part, all the tension bleeding out of him.

"Does this mean I can still come over to your house for Thanksgiving?" he says, leaning into Ice's shoulder, resting a hand against Ice's hip, and Ice cradles him with one arm, balancing the flowers on a side table with the other.

"God, Mav, you're so fucking stupid," Ice says, and kisses him again.


	5. 1992

For the most part, life proceeds as normal, except that Mav sleeps in now, refusing to leave Ice’s side in the mornings before they have to get up and be professional for the rest of the day. It takes a while for it all to sink in; Ice still wonders sometimes if this is real, if one day he'll open his eyes again and Mav will be gone. (Some days he does, but it turns out Mav's only gone down the hall to make them breakfast.) 

It's quiet, living with Mav - though he's known him long enough by now that that shouldn't have been surprising. They teach together, go on hops, push each other's limits like they always do, and then hold hands over dinner, or stroke each other's hair on the couch, and something in Ice stills that never has before. Outside the house, they're cautious as ever; civilian restaurants and Santa Ana are the only places they visit as a couple. Mav tires of it sometimes, but does a good job of staying professional, only occasionally hooking an ankle around his under the table at the O Club - they don't discuss concealing it, but they keep it on the down low.

Ice tells Taylor first, his parents after that, and then nobody else; they don't see that many people outside of work, anyway. Slider visits when he's on leave from deployment, sometimes, and Carole brought Bradley over to visit Mav for a weekend - which is probably the longest Ice has gone without seeing Mav in over a year. He's met them both before in passing, but never for long, which is why when Carole invites Mav over to Dallas for a weekend, Ice fully expects to spend that weekend alone. Instead, he hears Mav's delighted acceptance, and then, "Wait - can I bring Ice along?"

"That's new," Ice mumbles aloud, before Mav comes bounding back through the bedroom door.

"Hey," Mav says, grinning when he sees he's awake. "Wanna come to Dallas with me?"

* * *

Carole and Bradley pick them up at the airport and whisk them home. He doesn't talk much, but they don't expect him to - Mav and Bradley carry the bulk of the conversation, with Carole occasionally yelling a happy question at Ice over the rushing of the wind, until he finds himself laughing in answer. _So this is Mav's family,_ he thinks, every time he happens to glance over to find Mav smiling, and has to fight the urge to reach over and take his hand.

It dawns on him more and more over the weekend that follows that Mav really did invite him here to _meet his family_ \- Bradley calls him 'Uncle Mav' and Carole spoils him like she would a little brother, bringing Ice into the fold as though having him there as well is no surprise at all. Ice helps them with breakfast, hangs out with them in the pool, and soaks in the comforting regularity of their civilian lives. Carole seems to be keeping busy; she has both work and a seemingly unending list of hobbies and clubs, and Bradley's following in her footsteps, already taking soccer and piano lessons before he starts fifth grade in the fall. Ice is glad to see them happy; he knows how much Mav worries about them, how Carole is the only support system he's had for the longest time, and how he tries his best to be hers in return - how he's sometimes afraid he's failing her. 

"Maverick's been the greatest support to us," Carole says to him over jam sandwiches and beer, as Bradley sets up the piano and Mav rummages around the fridge for refills. "Looks after us whenever he can, however he can - I just love him to death. Why, after Goose passed on...I don't know what I'd have done without him."

"He worries about you," Ice says, feeling a little like he's said too much. "It means a lot to him that you're happy. And I know you look out for him, too."

Carole gives him an appraising look, but before she can say anything, Bradley waves excitedly from the piano bench.

"Hey, Uncle Mav, check this out! You wanna come over and sing?"

Mav emerges from the fridge, handing Carole and Ice their drinks before heading over to him. "Depends on if I know the song, little buddy."

Carole smiles softly in their direction, then turns to Ice. "He does," she says. "Bradley learned it just for him - he's been talking about nothing else for days."

"Come over and find out," Bradley says with a grin, and starts to play a Jerry Lee Lewis hit from back in the day. Ice watches Mav start in surprise, then grin widely as the opening chords go on; when Bradley starts to sing, Mav joins in right on cue.

"Tom," says Carole, suddenly serious, and Ice turns to give her his full attention. "I hope you're not going to break that boy's heart."

" - Ma'am?" He stammers just a little; it's nowhere near what he was expecting. "No, I - did he tell you?"

Carole laughs and takes a sip of her beer. "No, honey, he's just an open book, that's all. Tell you what, you ain't that subtle yourself."

Ice tries to keep the colour from rising in his cheeks - a losing battle, if he knows himself, especially when Mav is singing adorably across the room. "He get his heart broken often?"

"More than you know," Carole says, quiet but firm, and Ice's own heart clenches, just the tiniest bit. "I need to know you're taking this seriously, Lieutenant Commander. Because I know Maverick, and that boy is one hundred percent prime-time in love with you."

Ice looks over at Mav again, then back to meet her eyes, resolute. 

"I wasn't planning on breaking his heart, no," he says, and Carole nods, instantly going back to her cheerful self.

"Hey," she says brightly, gesturing over at the piano. "Think someone's trying to get your attention there, Iceman."

Someone is, indeed, trying to get his attention. "Hey, Ice, you big stud!"

Ice blinks as Carole dissolves into laughter beside him.

"We all know you can sing, Ice, come on over."

"Show us what you've got, Iceman," says Carole, getting to her feet, and Ice reluctantly follows her to the piano. She joins Bradley on the bench, while Mav, in true slightly-tipsy-Mav fashion, latches on to him and tucks an arm around his waist.

"I don't want to sing," Ice whispers to him in hopes of sympathy, and Mav pats his shoulder in commiseration but shakes his head with a cheeky grin.

"C'mon, Kazansky," he says just as softly. "I've heard you in the shower. Please?"

"Yeah, come on, Mr Iceman," Bradley chimes in, and Ice relents and sings a few bars, Mav delightedly joining in the chorus as Carole sways to the music. Bradley switches to a softer melody when the song is done, Carole humming along, and Ice can't bring himself to regret being embarrassed for those few short minutes, not when Mav is smiling at him like that.

"Hey," Mav says quietly after a moment. "I told you you'd be great."

"You're not half bad yourself."

"You're amazing," Mav whispers. "Marry me."

Ice breathes a laugh, tucked close enough against him that it ruffles his hair. He rests his forehead against Mav's, and, this time, dares to imagine saying yes.

"You're embarrassing, Mitchell," he murmurs instead, and Mav leans up to kiss him softly on the cheek.

"I know," he says with a smirk, as the music changes around them again.


	6. (+1) 1993

Ice drives home before the rain becomes a downpour. The latest batch of kids is on their way home after graduation day, and he's about ready to call it a session - a pretty good one, as they go. Mav's taken off on his motorcycle for the day, as he sometimes does at the end of a term. Ice doesn't ask him where he's going when he gets stressed; he knows he'll see Mav back to his bright-eyed self in the morning. Meanwhile, he has the evening to unwind.

He doesn't take bubble baths often, but he thinks he's earned one today; he almost falls asleep sitting in it, which is how he knows he has. The next order of business is to wrap himself in the fluffy bathrobe Mav has borrowed more often than not, and choose an old favorite romance novel to read alongside a glass of wine. The rain keeps up its steady pattering outside, and Ice soaks in the ambience while a part of him remembers to be grateful he's indoors.

He hangs his pajamas on the towel rack to warm up, figures in a moment of sentiment that he might as well put Mav's there too, and lights a scented candle to top the evening off. When he finally dresses for bed and pulls the covers up around his shoulders, the exhaustion of the past eight weeks rolls away completely as he falls asleep.

* * *

Thunderstorms don't wake him often, even when they're this intense. Ice tries to roll over and go back to sleep the first time, which fails at the second dramatic crack against his window. When he looks up in suspicion, propping himself up on his elbows, he sees the pane rattle as the third rock hits the frame.

"What the fuck," Ice mumbles to himself as another one almost cracks the glass, figuring he might as well get up and see what's going on. It's probably some drunk kids who haven't gone home yet, though why they'd pick his house in particular he has no idea. He's got a round of angrily cold comments ready to go when he slides the window up and sticks his head out - and then he stops and stares.

Mav's motorcycle is outside, an unmistakable shape in the shadows. Of course, it's accompanied by Mav himself, soaking wet, grinning up at Ice as he shouts something indistinct through the rain.

Ice sighs, fully prepared to scold Mav into coming upstairs, before he hears _what Mav is saying_ and forgets every word he knows. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't daydreamed of a moment like this, both since he was a teenager and since a certain Thanksgiving, but he'd always thought that between him and Mav, the subject would come up more casually, that they'd have a talk over breakfast one day and suddenly be engaged.

So yeah, Ice has daydreamed in his time, often of someone telling him he _must allow them to tell him how ardently they admire and love him_ while staring passionately at his lips, or yes, perhaps kissing him in the rain.

Instead, he gets this idiot.

" - hey, Ice!" Mav is shouting up to him through the downpour. "Will ya marry me, Ice? Say yes, Ice!"

"Jesus Christ," Ice mutters to himself. "For Pete's sake," he adds for good measure, and then remembers that Mav's _name_ is Pete, and also it's three in the fucking morning, why is this his life.

"Gotcha ring and everythin', Ice!" Mav yells, coaxingly. Because apparently 'yelling coaxingly' is a thing that Mav can do. He waves a hand in Ice's direction, makes a 'wait a minute' gesture, then holds up an actual ring and points at it. "See? You like it? What d'ya say, huh?"

Ice doesn't tell him he can barely see _him,_ let alone what the ring looks like, in the downpour. "I said you could be my wingman any time, remember?" he shouts down.

"Is that a yes?" Mav yells back, with a hopeful grin that should annoy Ice _so much_.

 _"Fuck,_ Mav, of course it's a yes, now get your stupid ass in here outta the rain."

He makes sure Mav gets moving before he snaps the window shut, then grabs a towel on the way to the front door. Mav barely seems to realize how wet he is as Ice pulls him inside and shuts the door behind him, starting to blot his face and hair. 

"Mitchell, what the fuck," he says gently as Mav shakes the towel off and tries to grab his hand. "How long have you been out there? - I'm trying to get you _dry,_ Mav, stop it."

"You're not—" Mav ducks out from underneath the towel again, and manages to catch hold of his left hand this time. "You're not getting out of this so easily, Kazansky, you said yes, now give."

"Wait, what—"

Mav slides the ring onto his finger. 

"There ya go," he says as Ice freezes, forgetting the towel for just a moment. It's a plain gold band, the perfect size. Mav's grinning like he's on top of the world, and Ice would kiss him, if only he could move. "Hey, that looks good on you, Ice. Sorry I'm getting water all over your floor."

Ice can't tear his eyes away from the ring, until Mav gently takes his hand and leans up to kiss him. His free hand reaches for Mav's hair of its own accord, wet as it is, and it takes a moment after their lips part for each of them to open their eyes.

"Hey," Ice whispers as Mav looks around for a dry section of the towel, takes it and reaches out to carefully wipe the finger wearing the ring. "Why now, you dumbass? Couldn't you at least wait till the storm was over?"

"There," Mav says, "okay, you're dry. What do you mean, _wait,_ Kazansky? It's been _years._ End of the session seemed like as good a time as any - the storm just happened, you think I'd let the weather keep me from you?"

"God, Mav, you're so fucking stupid," Ice sighs, and picks up the towel to try and dry him off again. Mav dimples up at him from underneath it, until Ice can't help but crack a smile. "Okay, come on upstairs, get those clothes off - no, not like _that,_ Mitchell, you're gonna get sick."

Mav lets Ice chase him into a hot shower, and looks a little warmer when he emerges wrapped in the pajamas Ice had set out for him earlier. He joins Ice in bed, turns the lights out before settling in, and promptly falls asleep in Ice's arms. Ice stays up a little longer, running his fingers through Mav's hair, and when the ring snags on it just the tiniest bit, Mav doesn't wake.


	7. (+1.5) 1993, Four Days Later

Mav ends up not leaving the bed for the better part of the next four days. Ice is probably never going to have the heart to say  _ I told you so _ again, but he's coughing and burning up when he wakes, burying his face in Ice's chest, and Ice does the best he can to spoil him rotten while he's sick. It gets bad enough quickly enough that Ice is worried for a while, considers dragging him to base hospital until he manages to surface long enough to have some soup.

"Ha," Mav says hoarsely, the spoon held loosely in his hand as he grins at Ice, "look at that, my evil scheme worked."

"...Please just eat your soup, Mav."

Mav obeys, leans into his side, and refuses to elaborate. 

The soup and the Advil seem to help; by the end of the fourth day, Mav is feeling well enough that they migrate from the bed to the couch, and spend the evening watching mindless TV, Mav absently playing with the ring on Ice's finger until he dozes off on Ice's chest. 

Ice doesn't mean to fall asleep too, but the next thing he knows he's blinking awake to the NBC news jingle and there's a crick in his neck. Mav stirs as well at the noise, and Ice fumbles for the remote to turn the sound down, but the image on the screen stills his fingers.

_ " 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Pursue' will be the name of this new directive from the Department of Defense,"  _ the newscaster is saying, and then the feed cuts to the White House Briefing Room, where President Clinton is standing at the podium, looking exhausted.

_ "It is, in my judgment, consistent with my responsibilities as President and Commander in Chief to meet the need to change current policy. It is an honorable compromise that advances the cause of people who are called to serve our country by their patriotism, the cause of our national security and our national interest in resolving an issue that has divided our military and our nation and diverted our attention from other matters for too long." _

Then it cuts back to the newscaster, who's still smiling brightly at the camera like her entire world hasn't just shattered around her. She's talking now about the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Congress and some reactions on the local level, and Ice can only hold Mav close, can't bring himself to take anything in. After months of listening to Bill Clinton promise that he was going to end the ban for good, Ice had actually started to believe him. To hope he'd have the chance to marry the man he loves, with the honor he deserves. And now fucking Congress has outmaneuvered the president and made the existing ban against being openly gay in the military into federal fucking law.

Goddamnit, it's just not  _ fair. _ They'd just…not when they'd just…

"It's not fair," he whispers aloud.

"It'll be okay," Mav says softly. Ice startles; he hadn't realized Mav was awake enough to be listening, enough to look as devastated as Ice feels. "Hey. So it'll take a while. We can…I can wait." He coughs hard, clears his throat, looks back up at Ice again. "Someday I'll get to be yours for real, Kazansky. You just wait and see."  



	8. (+2) 2011

_"Today, the discriminatory law known as 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' is finally and formally repealed."_

It takes a few moments for Ice to register the words. It takes hardly an instant after that for him to grab Mav's hand, pulling him back toward the television screen in the admin building lobby. Mav almost starts to complain, but follows his gaze and falls silent.

_"As of today, patriotic Americans in uniform will no longer have to lie about who they are in order to serve the country they love."_

"Huh," Mav says quietly, and squeezes his hand; Ice says nothing, eyes still fixed on the screen. "Looks like it's actually happening."

_"As of today, our armed forces will no longer lose the extraordinary skills and combat experience of so many gay and lesbian service members. And today, as Commander in Chief, I want those who were discharged under this law to know that your country deeply values your service."_

Someone shoves past their shoulders, then someone else, navigating around them to get from the lobby into the hall. Mav squishes up obligingly, shifting into Ice's side, but neither of them moves away, nor lets go of the other's hand. Ice's free hand wanders upward, as it often has over the years, to the plain gold band looped through the chain of his dog tags.

_"I was proud to sign the Repeal Act into law last December because I knew that it would enhance our national security, increase our military readiness, and bring us closer to the principles of equality and fairness that define us as Americans. Today's achievement is a tribute to all the patriots who fought and marched for change - "_

"Hey," says Mav, indignantly but softly, as another officer bumps into them on her way into the hall. Ice lets Mav gently move him out of the way, acutely aware of Mav's hands on him: one on his elbow, one protective, blatant, at the small of his back. Mav's head closer to his shoulder than it's ever been while they're in uniform. In fairness, Ice started it with the handholding; he guesses he asked for this.

"Kazansky," Mav says seriously, but when Ice looks down at him, he can see the suspicious shine in his eyes. "Hey, Earth to Kazansky. So, you still going to marry me or what?"

* * *

Ice is still going to marry him. Ice is going to wear Mav's ring on his finger for the rest of his days, and look at Mav wearing his, no longer having to hide them underneath their uniforms. - Ice is probably going to lose his mind if Mav tries to distract him from wedding planning any longer.

"Kazansky, you need to spend less time worrying about the difference between sunshine yellow and daisy yellow and more time kissing me."

"There _is_ a difference," Ice says, but he kisses Mav for his troubles anyway. "Get off the binder, Mitchell, I can't see the guest list."

Mav reluctantly lifts his head from Ice's precious wedding binder and gets up on the couch beside him. He's promptly replaced by SR-71.

 _"Mav._ Are you going to pick up the cat? I have to do everything myself around here."

Mav solemnly moves SR-71 to his lap instead, and raises her paw to high five her. "Good try, girl," he says as she purrs, settling in to rest his head on Ice's shoulder. "Alright, so we've got your family, mine, and our graduating class."

"And SR-71," Ice adds. SR-71 perks up at the sound of her name. "She'll be the guest of honor."

"She can be the ring bearer," Mav says, grinning. 

Ice wonders briefly how the hell Mav is going to pull that off, but decides not to question it for now. With only three weeks left to the wedding, this is one of the few things he's letting Mav be in charge of. The venue's already taken care of - Viper offered up his backyard before Mav even asked - and Corrinne Metcalf and the girls have gone to town on the cake tastings. Their officiant is an efficient lady named Angela, who wears lots of glitter and works for the San Diego County Clerk's Office. Between putting Mav on RSVP duty and writing his own vows (and hiding them from his husband-to-be, who's entirely too curious about what he's writing), Ice expects to be more stressed than he is - but really, he just can't wait for the day.

* * *

October 21, 2011 comes sooner than Ice had expected. The day is warm and partly cloudy, and by three o'clock, all of the guests are in their seats in Viper's backyard. It's strange, not having Mav immediately by his side, but his parents are there instead, waiting to walk him up the aisle. 

Ice watches the officiant make her way to the altar, feels a flutter of excitement when the music cues him and his parents to step forward. He catches sight of Slider grinning at his wife, Merlin seated next to the rest of the graduating class, Charlie making conversation with Corrinne and the girls; an anticipatory hush falls over the gathering as he stands at the podium and Bill and Jess take their seats. 

After so long going over the ceremony in his head, Ice doesn't have to turn around to know that Taylor and Carole are following, sunshine-bright in their matching yellow dresses. He can tell by the _awww_ s that Bradley and SR-71 are right behind them, and when the familiar organ music starts to play, he knows that Mav is walking up the aisle on Viper's arm. Mav elbows him lightly in the arm when he reaches him, Ice turns around, and the sight of Mav smiling up at him in his dress whites is enough to make his heart skip a beat.

"Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to what I've been told is the incredibly long overdue wedding of Commander Thomas James 'Iceman' Kazansky and Commander Peter Matthew 'Maverick' Mitchell…"

Mav grins a little wider at their full names, and Ice gets too lost in his eyes to hear any of the rest of the officiant's introduction. 

" - If there is anyone who thinks these two should not be wed, please speak now or forever hold your peace."

It's stupid and irrational and he knows it, but Ice automatically tenses up, prepared for all of Congress or the Joint Chiefs of Staff or the president himself to come running in and say they've changed their minds about the repeal, perhaps that it was all a dream. But no one appears, and no one speaks up, not even as a joke, and he starts to breathe again.

This is real. They're getting _married._ It might have taken longer than either he or Mav had hoped, but it's happening now. He's marrying the man he loves, with the honor he deserves, and no one can take that away from them.

"They have prepared their own vows to show the breadth and depth of their love for one another," Angela is saying, and Ice tunes back in again. She beckons him forward, and he clears his throat, the silence so intense he could hear a pin drop.

"Mav," Ice says. "If anyone had told me twenty-five years ago that I'd one day be marrying you, I'd probably have snapped my gum in their face." 

The guests snort, and Mav smiles. 

"But - " he takes a deep breath, and takes Mav's hands - "I meant it when I said you can be my wingman anytime, and now it's finally official. Mav, it's been twenty years, and you still keep every day exciting - " Mav turns and winks at the guests, and Ice sees Viper stifle a laugh.

"You make it easy to take things easy. You make it easy to believe things will work out. I promise to always make life easier for you in equal measure, to always listen to you no matter what, and that as I long as I live, you will always have someone to hold you." Mav holds his gaze with shining eyes, and Ice smiles back.

"I love you, Mav. I've come here with no expectations, only to profess - now that I am at liberty to do so - that my heart is, and always will be, yours."

Ice gently squeezes Mav's hands. Mav grins, taking his cue, lets go of one of Ice's hands, and fishes an index card out of his pocket.

"Ice," he says, dramatically reading from it, "when I first met you, I'd lost that loving feeling." Someone - probably Slider - whistles, and Mav pauses for effect before going on. "But now, because of you, I walk the line." There's a scattering of laughter from the crowd.

"It's been twenty years, and you still take my breath away. I can't believe you actually still want to marry me after all this time, and I'm going to spend the rest of our lives making sure that you don't regret it." Mav pauses again, this time to take a breath, pointedly keeping his gaze on the index card.

"You make life better just by being there. When we're not in the sky, you're the one who keeps my feet on the ground. I can only promise in return that I'll never let you down, and never let you go. Whatever life throws at us, it throws at _us,_ and we'll make lemonade together." Mav puts the card away, takes Ice's hand again, and meets his eyes, holding back tears. "I love you, Iceman Kazansky, and I promise to always be your wingman."

Ice clears his throat, holding back tears of his own. "In the air and on the ground." 

Mav's answering laugh is watery. "In the air and on the ground."

The silence between them is only broken by the officiant clearing her throat. "Thank you, gentlemen," she says. "Now it's time for the exchange of the rings - if the ring bearer would step forward…"

Bradley, tall and proud and the spitting image of his father, walks up to them. In his hands is a red velvet pillow, and on that pillow lounges SR-71, who looks utterly bored with the festivities - and with the ring boxes dangling from her collar.

Once the laughter from the guests has died down, Angela speaks up again. "You shall wear these rings proudly, and let them remind you each day of your love for one another." To Ice, she says, "Repeat after me. Peter Matthew 'Maverick' Mitchell, with this ring, I thee wed."

"Peter Matthew 'Maverick' Mitchell." Ice slides the ring onto Mav's finger, holds his hand with both his own. "With this ring, I thee wed."

"Repeat after me. Thomas James 'Iceman' Kazansky, with this ring, I thee wed."

"Thomas James 'Iceman' Kazansky," says Mav, somehow steady even through the tears in his eyes. He slides the ring onto Ice's finger. _This is happening,_ Ice reminds himself. _This is really happening._ "With this ring, I thee wed."

Bradley grins briefly at Mav and Ice before he returns to his seat beside Slider. SR-71 settles down by Ice's mother, who has been steadily crying into a tissue for the entirety of the ceremony.

"Do you, Thomas James 'Iceman' Kazansky, take Peter Matthew 'Maverick' Mitchell to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor, and cherish, to have and to hold from this day forward, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

"I do," Ice says.

"Do you, Peter Matthew 'Maverick' Mitchell, take Thomas James 'Iceman' Kazansky to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor, and cherish, to have and to hold from this day forward, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

"Yeah," Mav says. "Yeah, I do."

"Then by the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you married." She smiles. "You may seal your union with a kiss."

Mav grins, lets go of Ice's hands, and Ice reaches out to cup the back of his neck, closes what's left of the distance between them and leans down to press his lips to his. Mav deepens the kiss in answer, his hands digging into Ice's shoulders, and when they finally break apart, it's to the sound of clapping and cheers from everyone they love.

As they walk back down the aisle hand in hand, Slider and his wife stand up to throw handfuls of heart-shaped confetti at them both. They're quickly followed by the rest of the graduating class, and Mav laughs in delight as Taylor and Carole join in from behind them, too. There's happy chaos as they all sign the marriage license, then Mav and Ice move back indoors to spend a quiet moment together away from the crowd.

"I wonder what Taylor and Carole will say in their speeches," Ice says. "I kept asking them, but they wouldn't tell me."

Mav laughs, laying his head on Ice's shoulder. "I just can't believe we're married, Kazansky. I'm gonna hide the certificate as soon as I get my hands on it."

On any other day, Ice might have rolled his eyes. Not today, though. "Why would you do that?"

"Cause you can't return me without the receipt, Kazansky, that's why." He's laughing when Ice turns to him, puts an arm around him instead of protesting that Ice has displaced him from his shoulder. It's the first time Ice has got a good look at him since before the ceremony; he knows Mav is handsome, but somehow it strikes differently that Mav, _his husband,_ is handsome. 

"You've got confetti in your hair, Mitchell," he says, picks out a shiny red heart and holds it out to him, and Mav leans up and kisses him deeply, half in his lap before Taylor comes to escort them back into the yard.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Angela is saying as they step out onto the patio, "I give you, for the first time, Commanders Maverick and Iceman Mitchell Kazansky!"

Taylor takes the microphone from Angela once everybody's seated, and only makes Ice sweat a little with the embarrassing stories from his childhood that she hints at ("I saved him from growing out his hair any more, Mav, you're welcome"). Carole gets in some good-natured ribs at both of them; Ice hands Mav a napkin, and blinks back tears of his own, when Carole says, quiet but serious, that her angel Goose would be so happy for the pair of them. Viper waves off the microphone when it's offered to him, and Bradley steps up to accept it instead, with SR-71 perched high on his shoulder. "Welcome to the family, Uncle Ice," he says with a grin. "I'll let my partner here have the last word."

"Mew," SR-71 says, then rubs her cheek against the microphone, and the guests laugh out loud.

"That's our daughter, Kazansky," Mav says tearfully to Ice, leaning against his shoulder again. "I've never been more proud."

Bradley takes the microphone away from SR-71 and hands it back to the officiant, who announces the first dance, calling Mav and Ice up front again. The song they both agreed on is _Hello, I Love You_ by the Doors, and Mav practically melts into his arms at the first note, swaying gently with him as the guests whistle and cheer.

The music changes, and Jess and Corrinne are urged up front for the mother-son dance; Ice goes with his mother, and Mav holds out his arm for Corrinne, who laughs and lets Mav take the lead. Jess's smile is watery, and Ice's eyes burn when she leans up on her tiptoes and whispers to him, "I'm so proud of you two, honey." When they switch partners, Ice glances over at Mav and Jess, and sees both of them in tears as well.

It's not until all of the guests are on the dance floor that Taylor and Slider start calling for someone to toss the bouquet. Carole offers Mav her bouquet of flowers, and Mav grins, closes his eyes and wildly flings it over his shoulder. It sails over the heads and grasping hands of the people still on the dance floor and lands with a thump on Jester's head, who swears and spills his glass of champagne on himself. 

"Goddamn it, Maverick," he yells over the music, but Ice can see he's fighting a smile.

Mav tucks one of the remaining flowers from the bouquet into SR-71's collar, and absently picks her up in his arms, bouncing her to the music. Ice grins and takes Mav and SR-71 into his arms, the three of them swaying together to the last notes of the song. Guests keep coming up to them and congratulating them, and when the officiant shakes their hands and heads out, Ice remembers the last item on the wedding binder checklist and grins.

"Let's get tipsy, Mitchell," he says. "About time, don't you think?"

* * *

Taylor chases them off to get changed into civilian clothing, and then they all find themselves at the O Club to toast old times and new. The place hasn't changed much in fifteen years, the bar counter still the same dark, polished wood, the lights still intense but low. The aircraft in the posters on the walls are new, and Ice takes proud advantage of the one other novelty: the fact that he can take Mav's hand in his as they walk to their table. 

Ice watches their little crowd get settled in, watches them all relax over the course of a couple of hours. Carole drifts over to the bar every now and then to get more drinks, sometimes with Bradley in tow; Suzanne, Slider's wife, swaps drinks with Slider halfway through a conversation about the good old days, and Hollywood and Wolfman argue goodnaturedly with Taylor about the exact size of a 747. Mav hasn't let go of Ice's hand since they walked in, except to gently grab hold of Ice's knee. He hasn't seen Mav look this content in a long time.

Taylor throws her arm around Mav's shoulders, and announces to the whole table that they're going to go to the bar and get more drinks - which is Ice's signal. Mav whines a little about being pulled away from Ice, but goes with her anyway, leaving Ice free to slip away and borrow a couple of microphones left unguarded on top of the speaker.

"I can't believe you made me _abandon_ my _husband,"_ Ice hears Mav complaining to Taylor, while she holds him up in front of the bar counter. Ice bites back his smile and taps Mav on the shoulder; Mav turns around, delighted. "Oh look, it's my husband!"

"Don't worry, Mav, I've got this," Taylor says with a wink, and joins Ice.

Ice hands a microphone to Taylor and lifts his own microphone to his lips, inwardly wincing at the feedback. 

"Maverick," he says, with all the weight of their twenty years together in his voice, "I lost that loving feeling until I met you."

Mav's eyes widen, and Ice clears his throat.

"You never close your eyes, anymore, when I kiss your lips."

"There's no tenderness like before," sings Taylor. "In your fingertips."

"You're trying hard not to show it - "

"But baby, believe me, I know it!" Taylor sings, and the peanut gallery in the back of the room collectively gets the picture and joins them for the chorus.

"You've lost that lovin' feelin' - whoa, that lovin' feelin' - you've lost that _lovin'_ feelin', now it's gone, gone, gone, whoa-oh…"

Ice doesn’t know if Mav is going to stay frozen or join in for the second verse; instead he launches forward, knocking the microphone out of Ice's hands as he kisses him messily, fiercely, leaning downward this time as Ice hefts him in his arms. 

"Did you like that?" Ice whispers, as the bar erupts into hoots and whistles around them.

"I liked it," Mav says, leaning down to kiss him again. "I loved it. I love _you._ Put me down, Kazansky."

Ice laughs and sets Mav back down; Mav immediately turns towards the bartender and earnestly says, pointing at Ice, "Did you see? That's my _husband."_

"I think _everybody_ saw, Mav," Taylor teases, and the three of them return to the table with their drinks in hand.

Slowly, the bar empties out, until Carole, Taylor, Bradley and Slider are the only ones left around their table. Mav is quiet by now, leaning sleepily against Ice’s side, and Ice draws him close and soaks in the moment. The conversation falls into a comfortable lull, and Ice runs his fingers lightly through Mav's hair, the movement second nature to him, no longer something he has to hold back. When the ring snags on it just the tiniest bit, Mav looks up at him, smiling, and Ice's heart stops all over again.

"You're going gray, Mitchell," he says softly, and Mav laughs and curls both his arms around him in reply.


	9. (+3: Epilogue) 2021

Contrary to popular belief, Captain Thomas Kazansky is not, in fact, made of ice.

In the classroom is one thing. He's aware that the students think he's a hardass, and that that reputation is well deserved: he knows the rulebook inside and out, and drills them on it till they do, too. He's fine with not being the most approachable instructor they've ever had, as long as they learn well enough to impress him in the air. 

Outside of class, though, it's a little different. There was a time, once, when Ice would have been horrified to express a single emotion in front of his colleagues, but now he and Mav stroll around base together in the evenings hand in hand, sometimes carrying SR-71 or one of the four MiGs, laughing like nothing's ever been wrong. There's no avoiding now that anyone who's been at Fallon more than a couple of days knows he has a heart.

He still enjoys teaching after all these years, and it's been even better since his husband joined him in the classroom - even if Mav occasionally tunes out during lecture and tries to balance a glass on his nose while Ice is talking.

This particular batch of kids is a good one. It feels strange having Bradley as a student and not as a guest on base, but Bradley and Fritz have done a good job so far, staying neck and neck with Phoenix and Bob as the session draws to a close; the rest have all been flying up to standard, with no one falling far behind. He's also fond of them because they seem to love Mav as much as he does, high fiving him after hops and sending ten-hour Vine compilations to his official email address. They all humor him when he attempts to use memes in conversation _ , _ and not one of them has ever failed to smile when he opens a class by asking for the tea.

Ice spends most of the last hop of the session thinking about his and Mav's plans for the evening. It's been thirty years to the day since they got together; he's made a reservation for them at a nice restaurant in Reno, and got tickets for a re-showing of  _ Terminator 2  _ at a nearby theater for old times' sake. He knows Mav must be planning something too, but if he has, he's been keeping it pretty quiet. Ice looks forward to finding out what it is.

Phoenix takes the hop, and the plaque to boot; by the time they land to the sound of congratulations and cheering over the comms, it's started to drizzle. Ice smiles and shakes Phoenix's hand after Mav high fives and hugs her, and starts to head back inside, thinking about placing a call to the engravers before he and Mav leave for the night.

"Captain Kazansky!" 

Ice stops and turns around. Mav has paused a few feet behind him on the tarmac, his hair damp from the drizzle, and clustered a few feet behind  _ him _ are all the kids, none of whom look even a bit tired from the hop. In fact, they're all smirking and muttering to each other like cats that ate not only one canary but the whole flock.  _ This ought to be good.  _ "What?"

"I love you," Mav says, and one of the kids squeaks and clutches another's arm in excitement.

" - Okay?" Ice frowns, more confused than anything. "Mav, what - "

Mav holds up a hand, directed both at Ice and the kids, and Ice is so taken aback that he actually shuts up. "I love you," Mav says again, this time loud and clear so everyone can hear him over the rain. " _ Most ardently. _ "

The entire world seems to fall out from under him, and all Ice can do is stare at his husband, suddenly so breathless he can't even speak. He'd be lying if he said he never thought about something like this, a romantic proposal in the rain - but then, well, he got one, even if it wasn't quite Austenesque. He's had everything he's ever wanted for so long that this particular thought hasn't crossed his mind in years; even after all this time, Mav surprises him, again and again.

"You must know," Mav says, his tone suddenly serious even though his eyes are twinkling. "Surely, you must know it," he gestures around him, "was all for you. You are too generous to trifle with me. I believe you spoke with our commanding officer last night, and it has taught me to hope as I'd scarcely allowed myself before." He takes a step forward, and Ice spares a moment to wonder how much he's rehearsed this, because his declamation is perfect. "If your feelings are still what they were last July, tell me so at once.  _ My  _ affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever."

_ Nothing could silence you forever,  _ Ice thinks. He'd say it if he weren't stunned into silence himself.

"If, however," Mav says, hesitating in all the right places, like Ice hasn't been wearing Mav's ring on his finger for more than twenty-five years already, "your feelings  _ have _ changed, I will have to tell you…" He swallows hard, and strides closer until they're only inches apart, looking earnestly up at him. Ice honestly thinks he might cry. "You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love…I love you. And I never wish to be parted from you from this day on." Mav stops, takes a step back, and waits, standing almost at attention. "Please do me the honor of accepting my hand."

All the kids stare at Ice expectantly.

Ice presses his lips together to hide his smile. He's still got a reputation to maintain, after all. "Thought I already accepted your hand, Mitchell."

Mav shrugs. "Wouldn't hurt to hear it again."

Ice takes Mav's left hand in his and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, right above his wedding ring. "Well then," he says, so quiet only Mav can hear him. It's his line now, after all. "Your hands are cold."

"Just kiss already!" calls Fritz, who is quickly shushed by the other pilots. Phoenix elbows him hard in the side.  _ "Ow,  _ fuck, sorry, sorry…"

Ice rolls his eyes, but he's smiling when he leans in, cups Mav's jaw with his free hand, and kisses him. Fritz whoops, Payback and Fanboy wolf-whistle, and Phoenix and Bob lead the kids in a round of applause before they start to disperse, leaving them alone together on the runway as the sun sets. Bradley just shakes his head, used to their antics by now, but there's a smile on his face too.

"Nice one, Uncle Mav," Bradley calls over his shoulder as he and Fritz pass them on the way to the locker rooms, the other kids chattering excitedly amongst themselves.

"Thanks, little buddy," Mav grins, then loops his arm through Ice's and says, quieter, "So, what'd you think, Ice? Was that good? Did you like that?"

Ice pretends to think about it, picking up Mav's hand and squeezing it in his again. "I think there was some room for improvement."

_ "Ice." _

Ice laughs, leans down and kisses his temple. "I liked it," he says. "I loved it. I love  _ you." _

"Most ardently?" Mav teases, and Ice rolls his eyes, wiping away the rain trickling down his hairline. 

"C'mon, Mitchell, let's get inside before you get sick again."

Mav obliges, tucking an arm around Ice's waist as they walk back inside, and Ice grins at the kids and thinks about the past thirty years, about how it took hell and high water to get here but he wouldn't change a thing. There was a time, once, when he spent years daydreaming of romance-novel perfection, of the earth moving and the skies trembling and everything inevitably unfolding until it came to a neat close.

Instead, he gets this idiot, who still kisses him in the rain. And he loves this idiot very much.


End file.
